怕棒馱屍 Fear of the Staff Sets Him Hauling
馱著他，腌臢水淋將下來，污了衣服，沒人與我漿洗。上面有幾個補丁，天陰發潮，如何穿麼？」行者道：「你只管馱了去，到寺裡，我與你換衣服。」八戒道：「不羞，連你穿的也沒有，又替我換？」行者道：「這般弄嘴，便不馱罷？」八戒道：「不馱。」行者道：「便伸過孤拐來，打二十棒。」八戒慌了道：「哥哥，那棒子重，若是打上二十，我與這皇帝一般了。」行者道：「怕打時，趁早兒馱著走路。」八戒果然怕打，沒好氣，把屍首拽將過來，背在身上，拽步出園就走。驮着他，腌臜水淋将下来，污了衣服，没人与我浆洗。上面有几个补丁，天阴发潮，如何穿么？」行者道：「你只管驮了去，到寺里，我与你换衣服。」八戒道：「不羞，连你穿的也没有，又替我换？」行者道：「这般弄嘴，便不驮罢？」八戒道：「不驮。」行者道：「便伸过孤拐来，打二十棒。」八戒慌了道：「哥哥，那棒子重，若是打上二十，我与这皇帝一般了。」行者道：「怕打时，趁早儿驮着走路。」八戒果然怕打，没好气，把尸首拽将过来，背在身上，拽步出园就走。
逐句解 Line by line
'Hauling him, the filthy water dribbles down and soils my clothes, and there's no one to wash them for me.'
腌臢水: foul, filthy water (腌臢 read ā zā, a vernacular word for grime with no polite equivalent). 淋將下來: dribbles down him (將 = jiāng). 漿洗 is to launder — properly, with starch. Of all the things to mind about carrying a dead king, the laundry is the one that troubles him. 著 = zhe; 沒 = méi.
'There are a few patches on top already; when the sky turns damp, how am I to wear them?'
補丁: a patch on worn clothing. 天陰發潮: when the weather turns damp — and damp cloth on patches is a real misery, which is exactly why the complaint is funny. He is being entirely reasonable about entirely the wrong thing.
The Pilgrim said: 'Just you carry him along; when we get to the temple, I'll change your clothes for you.'
只管馱了去: just keep carrying. The offer to replace his clothes at the temple is made with no intention whatsoever. 行 = xíng.
Bajie said: 'For shame — you haven't even the clothes on your own back, and you'd change mine?'
不羞: 'shame on you.' 連你穿的也沒有: you haven't got clothes of your own to wear (沒 = méi). Wukong, dressed in a tiger-skin kilt, has walked straight into that one.
The Pilgrim said: 'If you go on wagging your tongue like this, will you not carry him, then?'
弄嘴: to work the mouth — wagging the tongue, backchat. The tone has shifted; this is a warning. 便不馱罷: 'so you won't carry him, then?' (罷 = ba; 不 = bù).
Bajie said: 'I won't carry him.'
Two words, and he has committed himself (不 = bù).
The Pilgrim said: 'Then stick out your ankle for twenty strokes of the staff.'
孤拐 is the ankle-bone. Beating on the ankles was a standard judicial punishment, so the offer is framed with a certain legal formality — stick it out and take twenty. 行 = xíng.
Bajie panicked: 'Brother — that staff is heavy; if I take twenty strokes, I'll end up just like this emperor.'
The best line in the exchange, and the grimmest. That staff is heavy, says Bajie: twenty strokes and I'll be the same as this emperor. He is standing there with the evidence of what a fatal blow looks like slung over his shoulder. 那棒子重: 那 = nà; 重 = zhòng, 'heavy.' 一般了: 'the same' — that is, dead (一 = yì).
The Pilgrim said: 'If you're afraid of a beating, then get carrying and be on your way, and quick about it.'
趁早兒: get on with it, and quickly (兒 the light ending). 馱著走路: carry him and walk (著 = zhe).
Bajie, truly afraid of a beating, ill-temperedly dragged the corpse over, slung it on his back, and, dragging his feet, went off out of the garden.
沒好氣: in a thoroughly bad temper (沒 = méi). 拽將過來…拽步: drags the body over, then drags his own feet (拽 = zhuài, twice; 將 = jiāng). The novel is quite candid that what finally moved him was not persuasion but the threat of a beating.
Bajie's grievances multiply into a catalogue of small domestic miseries — the corpse dripping foul water down his back, his patched clothes ruined, nobody to launder them, and damp weather coming. Wukong's airy offer to change his clothes at the temple only draws the obvious retort about Wukong's own raggedness. This is the comfortable bickering of two beings who have been on the road together a long time and know precisely where the other is thin-skinned.
When banter fails, Wukong reaches, as ever, for the staff. The threat of twenty strokes on the ankle — and Bajie's terror of ending up the same as the emperor he is carrying — is what actually moves him. The novel is candid that this cooperation is compelled rather than won, and it lets the joke and the coercion sit in the same line.
The passage closes the well episode with Bajie shouldering the body and dragging himself, foul-tempered, out of the garden. The image is the chapter's emblem. What began as a poem about a delicate plantain ends as a bad-tempered march with a corpse, and the whole range of the chapter's tone has been travelled inside a single garden wall.